Children of War
by PurelyMuggle
Summary: It is always them who must suffer. She lost her parents, he lost the meaning of his life. Hermione Granger is not coping well at all with the cost of war, and Draco Malfoy is a little more than unwilling to save her...
1. In The Beginning There Was An End

_I had a thought for this story just before I read the Half Blood Prince, so events in this fiction will not follow canon. I still want to write it, as I have the plot forming in my head, but I will not be basing it on events that occurred in the sixth book. It is set in seventh year, but if you're looking for this to stem from HBP, then you've come to the wrong place. I have finished reading it (thought it was brilliant and dark) but couldn't fit the events into my plot, so I've decided that this will be AU._

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not in a million years belong to moi; I am only borrowing J.K. Rowling's characters and places for a little road trip and hopefully a long detour…_

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'Darling, are you sure we're on the right road?' Helen asked her husband as she peered out of the car window, her nose pressed right up against the glass. She was looking for a signpost to point them in the right direction, but she wasn't having the best of luck. She could barely make anything out in this storm which had been raging for the best part of their hour long journey, only the swirling of mist and downpour of rain.

The man sat next to her kept one well trained hand on the steering wheel as he rubbed the back of his head with his free hand, a gesture which expressed his bubbling frustration. 'I've followed the instructions in the letter precisely; dear,' he replied patiently, trying to convince himself that he had followed them exactly, when he was already quite sure he had, but it was no use trying to mask their agitation. The journey was proving fruitless, and the hard falling rain tumbling onto the windscreen only added to their gloom.

Helen sighed again in resignation as she folded the map up and threw it into the backseat with a look of pure loathing, grabbing her mobile phone hastily. 'Perhaps I should call Julie and Mike then, to see if they're having better luck,' she suggested with a hint of hope that maybe the evening wouldn't be wasted after all. She despised being in situations like this; situations that she could not think her way out of.

They continued driving further and further into the unknown. 'Hand me the letter again, would you love?' David asked as he checked his mirror for oncoming cars before pulling up in a space just off of the main road, under the burning intensity of one of the few streetlamps stationed along the dark road.

As soon as he had quieted the engine and removed the key from the ignition, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up slightly. If his wife noticed the same strange sensation that he had, she said nothing of it to him as she handed the envelope over, only offering a small smile.

He had always been a wary person, due to an unforgettable incident in his teens, when his reckless behaviour had almost taken his life and that of one of his friends. It was never very far from his mind, and he had become incredibly cautious in the later years of his life. Perhaps it was one of the reasons he had raised such a responsible, mature daughter, so that she would not make the same mistakes he had. Now his senses were screaming at him that something was not right. The problem was; he couldn't put his finger on what that something was.

Realising his eyes had become dry he blinked, the familiar tone of dialling keys on the mobile having brought him back to the car. He felt overly hot and stuffy, and a cramp pulsed persistently in his leg, something he hadn't been aware of moments before. David could hear the phone held up to his wife's ear, and the buzz as it rang pounded in his head.

'I'm just going to stand outside for a minute,' he said quietly to his wife, who nodded as she waited for their friends to answer their phone. Maybe they should have all driven down in the same car after all. He struggled to remember who had suggested that they went separately anyway, realising with a start that it had been him.

Leaving the car door open he stretched his legs out as he opened the envelope once again, feeling the familiar texture of the paper that he distinctly thought was different than the normal paper used in such letters, and re-read the first few sentences of familiar print, to be sure he hadn't misread it.

_Dear Sir and Madam, _

_We would cordially like to invite the both of you, on behalf of the 'Marion Moor Dentist and Medical Research Federation', to attend a formal dinner at the Grovesnor Hotel, West Bircham on the 30th July at 8 pm. Your practice has been selected as one of the contenders for an award in excellence of service and we would be delighted with your attendance…_

In the beginning, he had been sure that they weren't even members of such a Federation, until he looked though his records at the office to discover that they had been for some time. He glanced at his watch; it was five to eight now. They were going to be late, how would their tardiness appeal to the judges' panel? He glanced up as the passenger car door opened, it was only from that interruption that he realised how quiet it had become, somewhat eerie. There were no cars on the road, no signposts, and the only light along a long stretch of tarmac road was coming from the streetlamp above him, its yellow fluorescent glow outdated and intoxicating as it lit up the paper in his hands. He found himself straining his eyes to read.

'Well, their mobile phone is switched off,' Helen began, sounding defeated. 'I left a message on their voicemail, but I doubt that they will receive it until after the dinner. You know how Mike just hates to be interrupted during something important like this. They must have arrived already.' She shook her head ruefully. 'I'm sure I remembered Julie mentioning that they were setting off at the same time as us. They would have rung to see where we were…' she left the thought hanging.

David shook his head, not happy with the turnout of it all. 'It doesn't make sense, Helen. They had the same letter as we did; we followed the same instructions perfectly, and yet still _we_ got lost.'

Helen went to stand by his side, shivering slightly. At least the rain had stopped. 'We could have misread something, it's been a long day love,' she said soothingly as she rubbed his back softly. In truth, she felt uncomfortable and wanted nothing more than for them to get back into their car and turn around back where they came from. 'I don't know where we are at all. I can't even seem to find this road on the map.'

'You never were good with maps, sweetheart,' he joked lightly as he reached for her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. She chuckled and nodded her head.

Relief washed through the both of them as the laughter eased the oppressing darkness, tickling the leaves as they rustled in the forest. The wind was picking up again, they assumed, and the clouds were gathering overhead like an angry foaming grey mouth that still had business to attend to.

Ignoring the feeling of disappointment that they had lost an entire evening that they should have spent with their friends, Helen walked back around to her side of the car. 'The best thing we can do now,' she began as she sat down inside it, 'is to just turn around and go back home. We could pick up a takeaway on our way, I doubt Hermione would say no to late night Chinese.'

'Never in a million years',' David said cheerfully as he went to the boot to take out his jacket. Suddenly he felt rather cold. 'You'd better call her and tell her what we're doing. She'll be expecting a call from us now anyway, to say we'd arrived safely.' Helen nodded as she dialled the keys.

After retrieving his jacket he paused to put it on, when he caught a glimpse of something on the road ahead. He wondered past the car slightly unseen by his wife who was lost in conversation and playing with the frayed end of her jumper.

'…well you know what I'm like with maps, honey,' Helen joked. 'No, it's really quiet, there's no one to ask. There's no point in going now, it's starting any minute and we're exhausted…oh we'll be alright, we're going to pick up some Chinese takeout on our way back…yes, I'll get you the sweet and sour chicken balls…I won't forget the chips…hang on a minute-' Helen looked up as David pointed at something coming towards them, '- your dad says hi, he's making a fool of himself now, I think a cars heading towards us…'

The rest of the conversation faded out as he watched the light come closer. He squinted as the road got brighter and he lost his eye sight for a moment. He turned back to the car and waited for it to subside. He could make out Helen was smiling and shaking her head as she talked animatedly on the phone. She was waving at him to come back into the car, but he was shocked to find that for the moment he couldn't move a muscle in either of his legs. He watched as Helens face faded from amusement to confusion, she was looking at him strangely.

'Is something wrong?' she shouted out the window. But he couldn't hear her, his lips were frozen, he felt like a concrete statue, helpless and immobile. Why wasn't the light affecting her in the same way as it was him? He felt nauseated and light headed all at once, resisting the urge to vomit even though he knew he couldn't.

'…he's just standing their,' Helen continued, quicker now. She unbuckled her seatbelt as she made the motions to open the car door. '… must be playing a trick on me, it's been a terrible evening love…we're trying to wave a car down so that we can figure out exactly where we are. Oh, Hermione, don't forget to put the oven on and warm the plates up, there's nothing worse than-'

She'd been looking out the window into the forest, but suddenly her head snapped round to the light heading straight towards the car. Her words trailed off as she sat frozen in horror. She couldn't respond to the voice on the phone that was calling out her name, she couldn't blink or swallow. The most amazing feeling spread throughout her whole body, yet it felt like the most terrifying thing that she had ever experienced. The phone fell from her stiff hand, clattering amongst her feet on the floor. _No_, she thought, the word screaming in her mind. _NO!_

Suddenly the green light was all around her, blocking out the road and the forest and the car, it surrounded her thoughts and her mind and her memories, until she felt like she was floating in a vacuum of nothing, until she felt like nothing. Her eyes caught David's, and for a split second they were together and she felt safe. But the feeling in her body grew stronger, and in horror she felt that her insides were burning, adding to the smoke. She forgot who she was, where she was, who the man standing looking at her was.

Then in a flash, she could breathe, she was coughing, her eyes were streaming with tears. She heard the frightened calls coming from the phone, it must have been her phone, and looked up in horror. They were surrounded, there were so many of them. She'd been warned, she never thought…

A huge collective voice spoke out from the shadows, and the most petrifying voice she had ever heard filled her ears. It was chanting, singing, words she couldn't understand…things she didn't know. She saw was the hands on her watch. Ticking, ticking…the movement made her head pound as if she were intoxicated. Her body was still coughing, she was choking. Grabbing her throat with her hands she watched them all as they stood their, faces hidden behind ghastly masks. The last thing she saw was the man outside, choking like her, his face twisted in his agony. And when the hands on her watch read 8 pm, a huge scream erupted from within, the green light washed over her skin like waves on a beach, corroding her until she was burning and red raw; and she knew no more.

Smoke billowed up from the jarred and smouldering remains, and an unmistakable sign rose up above the scorched and bent metal. Many hours later, despite the roaring wind, it would still be there.

* * *

Many miles away, hours before, two children sat in a cold stone mansion that was exquisitely decorated, but no number of fires and tapestries adorning the walls could diminish the unmistakeable chill that refused clung to the corners of the high ceiling. Huddled against the chill as they sat in front of the large grey window, they watched with muted interest as the collection of masked faces walked from the grounds and out of the imposing iron gate; their black cloaks billowing behind them as if a part of them remained, spying on the newest members of their 'family'. 

'Do you think they'll come back?' Pansy whispered, breaking the silence as she adjusted the heavy woollen blanket around her shoulders, her eyes unable to move from the spot where the party outside had disappeared.

The boy beside her shrugged slightly, unsure himself. 'I hope not,' was all he offered, and she could tell he was afraid, just as much as she was.

'I can't believe they actually did it.'

'I knew they would.'

He had always known this would happen; he had been expecting it for some time now. It was only a matter of waiting. Ever since his father was thrown into Azkaban, ever since he had been exposed as the coward he really was, he knew what the punishment on his family would be. It was the worst kind, and he was the one who had to endure it.

Beside him Pansy shuffled anxiously. At least he wasn't alone.

'Draco, I'm scared.'

She had barely spoken the words, they were left dripping on her lips, she had only made the tiniest of sounds, but he couldn't help but feel like crying that she had been dragged along with him for this. He couldn't remember much of the ceremony, it had been wiped from his memory, or stored someplace deep in his mind, whether he had done it himself or if it had been done forcibly for him, he was unable to tell. But the torture it had been, the pain and the screaming…that would haunt him forever, he would never forget.

He reached out a pale hand across to hold hers, feeling how small it was in his own hand. They were still children, still young, and he knew it wasn't fair. 'I'm scared too,' he confided.

He regretting the boasting now, the arrogance he had held to this moment that he thought he had been dying for to experience and become; now thinking very differently indeed. How he had ever aspired for this, he never knew. It had been glamorised, dressed up by all of them, to be appealing and to be the ultimate sacrifice to show ones worth, to become part of this strange family. But now they were trapped by more than steel bars and reinforced stone walls strengthened by powerful dark magic. They were trapped by themselves and a connection they could never be rid of.

Pansy shook gently, he realised with a start that she had been crying the entire time since when they had been dumped in this room to 'recover'. Even thinking about them caused an anger to boil in his stomach. They had been told they were free to go if they wished to leave, but neither of them had dared to try and open the door or the window, knowing the lie was one of many tests they were yet to face. Strength was little in both of them, they didn't want to think what would happen…yet there was an idea locked away deep inside both that death would be more preferable than this living nightmare, but they had discussed this earlier. _'You think they'd leave a spell on the door that would kill us when we've just been initiated? They're not stupid wizards, Pansy, they don't want to throw us away and let us get away with it when they have to suffer themselves'. _There was no escape from this he knew, not even in death.

'Have you looked at yours?' she asked, this time tearing her eyes away from the window that was streaked with rain. Her dark eyes bored into his, the fear was unmistakable, the curiosity in them burning fiercely. He despised the role she had placed him in as her guardian, but regretted it in an instant. One of them had to be.

Draco shook his head from side to side before letting it hang in shame. He had been petrified at even thinking about what was on his left arm, giving only thought to what was on hers. His arm hung limply by his side under his own blanket. It was if he was trying to distance himself from it.

Knowing she had understood why he refused to look, he was slightly shocked that she was now reaching for the sleeve on her own arm. So she was trying to prove to him that she still had pride and bravery, well he didn't doubt that. Watching her intently as she winced with every touch made as she gingerly pulled her sleeve higher and higher, he felt a pulse in his arm that grew with every breath he took until he tried to stop breathing so much.

Pansy was gasping horribly now, tears streaming down her face as she tugged at her lip causing the skin to break and blood to spill into her mouth. But this wasn't the cause of her pain, she was inching the sleeve up slowly, bit by bit, ignoring the excruciating pain as best she could. Almost as if a part of her was trying to act in the opposite direction, to hide what was there. Her face was scrunched up in agony but she refused to remove her gaze from her arm. It was a private battle, she was fighting herself, yet she was trying to show him she was no wimp and not regretful when she knew that they both were.

Without a word he sidled along the window ledge, and with his good arm he ripped her sleeve apart, the sound of splintering cloth filling the room. It took a moment for him to fully focus on what it was he was seeing, to register the imprint. Pansy reacted first, her eyes widening in horror as she wrenched her head away so she no longer had to look, her sobbing becoming defeated and hushed as she finally admitted to herself that it was real.

He still had his hand wrapped around her arm, and he had to concede that even he recoiled in shock at first, choosing to look outside and focus on the tree that was groaning as it was shook from side to side in the storm. The rain would be their tears now. It took more courage than he was willing to admit to return his gaze to the thin arm held in front of him. Pansy's long black hair was masking her face, she still couldn't look, and she no longer wished to see.

The skin was the colour of blood, no longer smooth but coarse and rough. They had been warned in advance that this was to be expected, and would disappear within hours, yet this gave him little comfort. He reached out a finger to stroke it, but Pansy shrunk back in horror as if she knew what he was going to do.

'Don't touch!' she hissed, and whatever had prompted him to even try evaded his mind. 'He'll know…' she said weakly, wiping her puffy eyes with the back of her hand, smiling despite herself, then with a quick glance into his eyes she looked at the source of their problem.

In a weird delightful sort of way it was rather beautiful, Draco thought strangely. It was like a tattoo, the skull with the snake protruding from the mouth, designed from the blackest of blacks. But if only it were a tattoo, not a dark mark. Neither had seen one before, although they were well aware that both their parents had one.

They sat transfixed by it, the lightening in the sky illuminating it occasionally. Then Pansy, unable to take much more, fixed the remains of her sleeve to cover it. 'It's bigger that I thought,' she said numbly. She wrapped the itchy blanket around herself like a tent so that only her head was left uncovered, sniffing every so often as she sat in silent contemplation.

Knowing silently that now that she had unmasked hers it was his turn, Draco reached for the sleeve of his own tunic. He clenched his teeth together as the throbbing grew unbearable in his arm and reached out all over his body, until he felt the prickling sensation as the cold air flooded around his own burning mark.

The shock was lost on both of them this time, and he held his arm up to the window to get a good look at his own.

'I guess there's little hope we'll ever manage to get rid of them?' Pansy said as she watched him admire the skull, resisting the urge to want to touch it herself.

Draco sighed. 'If only…' His hand fell to his side, and the room was flooded once more with light as lightening broke out in the sky. In the corner behind them the fire crackled noisily, and a draught circled the room.

Pansy nodded as she felt a shiver run down her back. She was so tired, beyond the point of exhaustion. For a moment she wished she were anyone else, with a mother and father she could confide in the nastiness of a nightmare that had woken her in the night. Then she could feel the comfort in their arms as they would hug her and let her climb in between them in their bed, and be enveloped in a net of safety far away from the evils of the world.

There were no more tears left in her eyes to cry at the unfairness of the hand that she had been dealt, her parents had never been the sort to show love and care. Wearily, she leant her head on Draco's shoulder, her eyes drifting shut. At least, sat there with him, in that moment, she was no longer alone. For a minute, she felt the wash of the safety she knew she had been denied wrap around her, and relaxed in his arms.

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	2. And It Was Harder To Let Go

_I tried really hard in this chapter to try and imagine what it would feel like to lose my parents, and had to stop myself from writing before this got too long. I'd just like to say thank you to all my reviewers – you're reviews made me smile all day :)!_

_Disclaimer: See chapter one. It applies for the whole story.

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It had all been a blur; the following minutes seemed to merge into each other until she felt as if she'd been hunched in that same spot her entire life, as if the only emotion she had ever felt was despair. And she knew exactly who the blame for it should fall on. Sitting numb from the shock, slumped against the wall besides the staircase, Hermione could finally say that she had experienced true agony. The phone was lying limp by her side, hanging from its cord, the familiar dial tone telling her that there was no signal, no one waiting on the other end of the line. She hadn't the strength or the will to reach out and return it to the hook, to seep the house in silence. The chilling sound reverberated across her body, ringing in her ears, telling her to not let go. She still felt the presence of her mum and dad on the other end, but now that 'other end' was death, and no phone call could reach them there.

Her mind was unable to process the meaning of what had just occurred, although instantly at the same time she became aware of what it was. She had been there with them, the lucky sole survivor of the brutality; the victim, the horror only imagined by her eyes as her ears were her only witness. The screams no longer branded her from the receiver, and she felt the loss deep from within, like a porcelain doll that had fallen from a shelf, something had been ripped away lying tattered on the floor and no one would pick it up for her. That was what they were supposed to do, that's what a parent did for their child.

She'd been sobbing quietly for the last hour, not even a little bit surprised that she was not crying hysterically as some would have believed. Hermione Granger was not a hysterical person, she followed procedure from a book; she was logical, careful. But no book could guide her now. Images kept replaying in her mind; it was if she really had been there beside them yet immune from their punishment. She remembered the silence, the confusion, the horror, the torture, the screams…

Another sob escaped her lips; she was floating lost in her confusion as her head fell back against the hard wall. What should I do, was the one thought that caused her the least anguish as she wondered who she was supposed to call. They never taught you what to do in these situations, only how to try and prevent them. She couldn't replace the house phone to the receiver, couldn't cut off what she knew was already gone. Her muscles ached as she reached out for her handbag that she had carelessly dumped on the floor besides the stairs when she had returned from work, a summer job she'd been overjoyed to be offered at a bookstore in the town centre. No doubt it had been arranged for her by her parents as a chance for some experience, and she relinquished it amongst the smell of crisp unturned pages filled with adventures and mystery. Fumbling through the cluttered mess of keys, purse and a burger wrapper from lunch, she wrapped a shaking hand around the cold slab of metal, pulling the mobile phone out.

Still she couldn't process who to contact first. Surely the Ministry had detected the dark magic and would be on their way to the scene of the murder momentarily, yet it wouldn't be much longer before the muggle police would have to investigate the scene, her parents were muggles after all and had lived in the muggle world.

And there she reached the source of her problem, and this time she didn't even try to stop herself crying and screaming out in muted misery. Her parents weren't even part of the wizarding community; they were ordinary, decent people who happened to have a slightly _different_ child. She brought her hands to her face as the tears fell down one after the other, rocking herself backwards and forwards. It was her who was to blame for their murder, her and only her. She was the bridge between them and the magical community that was locked in a terrible war. She was the one who brought a connection between the two, and if it hadn't been for her, then there would have been no reason for her parents' deaths. The cold shoulder of blame, she knew, could only fall upon herself.

Effortlessly she pressed one key three times on her mobile and pulled it too her ear. She'd never dialled this number before, yet waited patiently as her call was connected. Still beside her side the telephone hung, and still she could not succumb to the idea that her parents were already gone. Hanging up the phone was no longer necessary.

* * *

The muggle police had arrived less than twenty minutes later. A team had already been called to the scene along a deserted country lane, tipped off by a local farmer who had seen a strange green light from his cottage across the other side of the forest, bewildered yet excited by his first hand experience in this mystery. The knocking on her front door brought Hermione back to her hallway and she realised that since she had ended the call she had been staring lifelessly at the wooden stairs in front of her, counting the lines in the bark to keep herself occupied and from thinking.

She hadn't the heart to tell them the door was unlocked, they'd figure it out themselves. It didn't take them long, seconds later it was open and they came swarming in like a pack of flies. They were armed, she noted, but then they would be considering the strange goings on that had occurred in recent months, muggles were not immune from the wizards' war. Two police officers hurried over to her as others processed through the house, apparently not trained to deal with the frightened- looking girl.

Hermione had explained calmly to the operator after she had dialled 999 that she was reporting an attack on her parents. She had been, as she had to repeat several times, on the phone to her mother, who was travelling to an awards dinner of some sort with her father, that she had her mother had told that her they were lost and heading home, when suddenly she heard screaming on the other end of the line and something that sounded like an explosion. She didn't tell them she already knew that her parents were dead, it only mattered that she was aware of that fact for the moment, they would tell her the cold truth soon enough. A part of her still hoped that maybe, just maybe, she was jumping to the wrong conclusion and that the officers of law and justice would tell her that her mum and dad were fine. Then she had hung up, the mobile falling deserted to place beside the telephone on the floor.

The female officer crouched down and caught her attention with her crystal blue eyes. 'I'm police officer Roberts, this is officer Matthews,' she said, indicating her head in the direction of her colleague standing behind her.

They looked at her expectedly, and she presumed they were waiting for her name. 'Hermione Granger,' she whispered hoarsely, so quietly they had to strain their ears to hear her.

'Were you the one to place the call?'

Hermione nodded wearily. Roberts regarded her solemnly for a moment, before sharing a quick look with the man behind her. 'Hermione,' she began, softly this time as she ringed her hands in a nervous gesture, suggesting she had bad news to give her, 'I'm afraid to tell you that your parents are dead.'

The silence fell upon her like a crushing blow. The words were so simply put that for a moment she just stared wide eyed at the pretty young woman in front of her, who only looked about five years older than herself. Then she swallowed and voices came flooding back as she nodded her head slightly, accepting what she already knew. She looked the other way, not wanting the sympathy and pity that lined their faces as they continued to watch her. Wordlessly she eased herself up from the floor, taking the telephone with her. Without another thought she hung it back on the receiver, and walked into the kitchen.

They followed her like puppy dogs, and began the slow proceedings that she was dreading to endure since the moment she had placed the call. She sat down hopelessly at the table, having thought that it would be a more ideal place for them to do what they must with their interrogation than the narrow hallway floor. Roberts had turned the kettle on, it hissed nosily. Hermione remembered that her dad had been meaning to fix that. Someone must have noticed that she had been shivering as they had retrieved a cashmere blanket from the lounge and had wrapped it around her shoulders. Matthews sat opposite her, setting up an audio tape. Above her she heard the movements and shuffling of feet as her house came under scrutiny, thankful at least that they would be unable to find any magical items that would make the situation, if possible, even worse for the Ministry to try and sort out.

Officer Roberts handed her a steaming mug of tea, and she accepted it politely but had no wish to drink it even though her mouth was screaming for the opposite. 'We have reason to believe,' she said as she sat down besides her, 'that your parents were murdered.'

So that was they handled things, Hermione thought. Blunt and straight to the point, no molly-coddling, no bandaged up half-truths, just the facts. For two hours she sat there, among countless interruptions and arrivals, of behalf of both Roberts and Matthews, who every fifteen minutes would disappear and return sometime later looking more the worse for wear than before. She let their voices wash over her, trying to ignore the discomfort that the wood of the chair was causing her as it jutted into her back. Her hands were still wrapped around the mug she had not drunk from, feeling the icy coldness. She kept her eyes in the direction of the window, not seeing anything in the darkness, hearing only the rain as it fell lightly on the windowsill outside. What was really on her mind was what she had planned tomorrow evening with her dad, yet now she had to come up with something to say to her boss, to tell her that she would never be coming in again, that her parents had been murdered, and that she had heard all of it. That she was very sorry to leave them in the lurch like this.

She had been pacing up and down her kitchen for several awkward, dragging minutes, absent minded as she picked at the end of the blanket she had wrapped around herself once more, chewing at her lower lip. Her eyes were large and puffy, smothered in washed out black from the mascara she'd worn to work that morning. She glanced over at PC Roberts, who was slumped in a chair talking angrily on her phone as she doodled on an official looking document. Every other word she would pause briefly as she looked up at Hermione, offering a small smile that meant nothing to her, before she turned away guiltily and shouted into her phone some more.

'What?' Something that Matthews was saying stuck out in her mind. Hermione jumped at the suddenness of hearing her own voice speak out for the first time, yet the words still only made it past her lips, her throat still cracked and hoarse from grief. She noticed for the first time that Matthews had returned from his absence, looking soaked to the bone and exhausted, with deep lines circling his eyes.

'They found a letter pinned to the remains of the car, besides the…bodies…' Hermione winced as her knuckles on the blanket turned white with strain, '…of your parents,' Matthews said quietly and quickly, as if that made the situation less severe. She only stared back at him, so he continued without hesitation. His voice was gentle, yet commanding. The type you'd always trust and feel safe with. 'It seems that your parents were invited –' Hermione cut him off.

'– to an awards dinner, I know. They showed me the letter.' She'd asked them earlier to tell them all that she knew, and they were obliging obediently. If she had been surprised at how quick they were gathering all this information, then she had forgotten about it; she needed the facts, she needed to know.

'Yes,' he said, struggling to get to the point, 'but we've checked with the hotel that this dinner was supposed to be held at and,' he gave her look that seemed to say he was sorry, 'the hotel in question does not exist. It was knocked down,' he glanced at the wet piece of paper stuck to the table in front of him, 'over a year ago.'

He let the words sink in, for her mind was slower now and it took her a moment to process this new twist. She sat, as before, unmoving, her chocolate eyes hollow and empty, staring into his own, as if she did not understand what he had just said. Then, under their scrutinising gaze, realisation dawned on her like the answer to a question she'd thought impossible to answer, and she felt sick to the stomach.

She jumped back from the table in a frenzy; dropping the cup on the floor, cold tea spraying everywhere as the mug smashed on the stone floor. Her hands covered her mouth in horror as she recoiled in shock, shaking her head desperately trying to control the heaving sobs that accompanied her tears. She felt like her mother had done, as if she was choking through her grief. She clenched her eyes shut as she fell back but the tears wouldn't stop their tirade, she was gasping for breath, she couldn't breathe. The chairs of the table screeched along the floor as they were forced back, but she didn't want their comfort or their arms. Unable to stop the sobs or the agony that burned in her chest she pushed past them; bent in half with arms wrapped tightly around her stomach as she rushed for the downstairs bathroom. It couldn't be, no, it just couldn't be, she kept trying to tell herself. Scuffling with the doorknob weakly she managed to heave the door open and thrown herself inside. She fell to the floor, tears streaking across her cheeks as she reached the toilet just in time before her stomach heaved and she threw up.

A moment later and a gentle hand was rubbing her back as she crouched there until her stomach was empty and the heaves only accompanied her reckless crying. Feeling worse than she had ever felt, she sat back and gratefully accepted the cold flannel that had been offered to wipe her mouth and burning face. After she was done, she turned and looked the policewoman directly in the eye.

'I want to go,' her voice was croaking against the strain, it sounded pitiful to even her own ears. 'I want to go _there_.'

She said it clearly and with all the strength she could possibly muster; staring at the woman with such conviction was the only thing that stopped her from breaking out into another wave of tearful agony.

The reply came almost instantly, with the tiniest hint of understanding. 'I'll see what I can do.'

* * *

It hadn't been as far away as Hermione had imagined it would be. They'd been speeding down the country lanes for nearly half an hour, and she'd spent most of it hunched up against the window, scanning the landscape with desperate need as she wondered every second if it would be just around the next corner. 

The weather was in no mood to let up, the rain was falling faster and harder now and murky water from the road was often sent spraying into the overgrown hedges that looked devoid of any care. As she had asked, after much debate with the police psychiatrist who arrived at her house just past midnight, she was heading towards the one thing she had to see for herself, to prove it was real.

The man sat beside her would have made her laugh quietly in amusement at any other time in any other situation. His bristly white hair and prickly moustache reminded her of a picture of Albert Einstein she had seen in a book a few years ago. Doctor Thomas, as he was called, focused on her as much as she did on the road, and had been firm in his belief that she should be allowed no access at all to the scene of the murder. PC Roberts sat in the front of the car besides Matthews who was driving, every so often checking her rear view mirror to assure herself she was doing the right thing.

The car slowed gently and a voice spoke up on the radio issuing orders.

'Are you sure you're going to be able to cope with this?' Doctor Thomas asked her gently.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders, determined to keep her eyes on the road outside. She was more frightened than she had ever been in her life, still unable to explain to herself how she'd convinced herself to come this far, without yelling at them to turn the car around and take her as far away from this nightmare as humanly possible. She had already pinched her arm countless time that evening; it had become just one more pain to learn to cope with.

She'll be scarred for life, he thought solemnly. She had been through enough already, he could tell, huddled up like a child under the blanket, a vacant expression in her features; although he knew her thoughts would be far from silent. 'You only have to stay as long as you want to, Hermione. When you are ready too leave, just say.'

Pulling the blanket tighter around herself she nodded her head. In front of her Roberts turned around to face the backseat passengers.

'It's just up ahead,' she told them as Hermione glanced quickly as far up the road as she could, still curled up in ball on the seat. 'You'll be escorted at all times, Hermione. For all we know, the attack could have been meant for you as well. We won't take any chances.

A tear escaped at the thought, how she wished it had. She could see lights gleaming up ahead, and suddenly felt very lonely as the car pulled to a halt at the bottom of the rolling hill. Someone was heading towards the car under a large umbrella. Hermione found herself listening intently as Roberts rolled down the window.

The man outside held a badge up. 'I'm Detective Reginald Hocks,' he said sounding flustered as he bent down to look in the car. His eyes passed over Hermione's, and his gaze rested on her for a moment.

It was hard to ignore the distaste in Roberts' voice as she spoke. 'I'm PC Roberts, this is PC Matthews,' she replied. 'We called ahead earlier –'

'Yes, yes,' the man replied impatiently, and it was then that Hermione noticed that he was wearing a rather, er, strange uniform. 'If Miss Granger would like to step outside,' he inquired as he reached for the door she was led against. She sat up quickly, not too sure if she trusted this Reginald Hocks.

Roberts made a move that suggested she was leaving the car herself, as did Dr. Thomas. 'No, no,' he told them hastily as he waved his hand at them in annoyance. 'We still have investigations ongoing that must not be disturbed by you noisy lot; I will escort Miss Granger myself.'

The tension mounted into a crescendo full of protests. 'But-'

'It's ok.'

Silence fell as three pairs of concerned eyes turned to face her as she unbuckled her seatbelt. The door opened and she forced herself to step outside into the rain.

Roberts shook her dark head as she took out her radio. 'I'm not happy about this.'

Reginald smiled tolerantly as he closed the back door. 'I'm following orders I'm afraid, from your superior. Speak to him if you must, but I can assure you I shall take care of Miss Granger. You can watch us from the car with binoculars if you must, I wouldn't dare try anything.' He turned to the girl huddled beside him. 'Come, Miss Granger. If you'd follow me.'

He spoke sensitively to her, wrapping an arm around her shaking shoulders as he guided her under his oversized umbrella. She looked about set to trudge through the rain like a lost child. He had to admit, he had been slightly taken aback by this young girls bravery and courage. He glanced at her as they walked slowly up the hill, well aware he was being watched from behind. Hidden beneath the large blanket she held tightly around herself, she had composed herself remarkably well; shock of course was delaying her reactions. Her wavy hair looked soaked through, her eyes lost, her lower lip threatening to tremble. That it had been her idea to come had startled him most, they didn't expect to get the chance to talk to her until later that morning.

'It's a bit of a trek, I'm afraid,' Hocks said as they eased up the hill. He could feel her half reluctance and half determination in the tiny steps she was making. Then he leant his head closer to her ear as he whispered, 'we're with the Ministry of Magic, Hermione.'

She wasn't the least bit surprised; she wasn't the cleverest witch in her year for no reason. 'I thought you might have been,' she replied as she focused her eyes on her feet. She felt relieved.

He nodded expectantly. 'It's why I couldn't allow your muggle police up here with you yet, makes hard work.'

They were nearing the top of the hill now where a long patch of road stretched out before them before disappearing down again. Hermione refrained from looking up, not wanting to see it just yet. She could hear sounds of Ministry officials up ahead, and a tight knot formed in her empty stomach. She stopped dead in her tracks, head bent as low as possible so he couldn't see her crying. She wasn't sure if she wanted to go much further.

Hocks stopped as soon as she had, rubbing her shoulders tenderly. He reminded her of a grandfather. 'You're very brave, Hermione. If you wish to turn around and go back, you can. This won't be easy for you, I know.' There was an underlying hint of his own sadness as he spoke, and for a moment she wondered what had happened to him. Even he had been disturbed and mortified by the scene of devastation that had been left, it had been the worst case he had seen yet for a muggle killing.

He could clearly see the wreck ahead of them, and the remains. A few of his dispatch team had noticed their arrival, but he motioned for them to keep working.

Gritting her teeth, Hermione willed her feet to move forwards as she wiped her tears away hastily. They walked the rest of the way in silence, and she chose not to think about the horrid smell that was invading her nostrils.

'Almost there,' he told her, and the feeling of dread growing in her body became nearly unbearable, until it threatened to send her flying over the edge into a whirlwind of turmoil and pain.

She didn't want to see it then, not really. If she hadn't been on the phone to her mother when it happened, then she knew she would not have forced herself to come this far, to take this giant leap. But she needed to see it with her eyes; she had heard it with her ears and couldn't think of nothing else until the picture was complete. She had spent every minute of the car journey trying to prepare herself for what she was about to witness, again, yet now she had nothing. Less than ten metres in front of her, and still she resisted the urge to look up.

* * *


	3. Because Of You

_Not very much Draco and Pansy in this chapter but there will be more of them in the next chapter. It's a bit slow paced still, but I hope you enjoy. Please review and let me know what you think, and check back next Friday for the next chapter.

* * *

_

All in all, Hermione Granger thought that she had been coping rather well with it all. She had, in a becoming regular fashion, received grieving relatives and family friends on a daily basis and accommodated them as if her own home were a five star hotel. She listened attentively as they recounted old, well known stories to her that she had been hearing since she was four years of age. She laughed at their jokes, jokes that were not in any way funny, only told to relieve the grief that was bubbling underneath, yet at the same time being suppressed until they burst into a flurry of tears and miserable sobbing, Hermione in her new role as a hostess, forced to bear it all with all the strength that she could muster to keep her own feelings locked up, would pass them a tissue from a fast emptying box and pat their hands in a comforting gesture, before rushing off into the kitchen to boil the kettle to make everyone tea so that she could escape from their suffocating shock and sadness that seemed to swell in her lounge, threatening to burst into the dining area and invade the haven that her kitchen had become. Always, she offered them an invitation to dinner but wouldn't allow them to cook, instead she let them babble on as they dealt with this completely unexpected situation in their own way. The food she served was delicious, and being the fantastic host she was, Hermione refused their offers to help clear the table, afraid they might venture into the kitchen, where two very visible plates lay innocently on the side, food untouched and cold, there only to remind her who was missing.

Through it all she had not been left alone in her home for more than a minute at a time, and Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about this. She was glad in a way that she wasn't alone, for it would only serve as more of a reminder, causing her to think about it all the more. But then she craved for silence, for solitude, so that she could finally lose control and cry all the tears that had settled in her eyes, making them glisten permanently. She wanted so badly to be left alone, so that she could scream the house down with all of her built up frustration, without someone making a worried call to the therapist, who ironically still had her parents and so could only imagine what it was she was supposed to 'be going through' at this time.

They watched her constantly, never letting her slip away, never letting her escape. She'd been tempted to disappear so many times, to sneak out in the middle of the night through a window, but even that was not permitted. On the driveway sat immobilised as she was becoming accustomed to was a car so similar to her parents it was uncanny (_It's for your protection, Hermione,_ Natalie Roberts, the police officer, had told her every time she'd bothered to ask,_ how would it look if it were a police car? People would talk, and that would ruin everything. Don't forget, your parents' murderer may still be out there, for all we know they may have plans for you as well…). _Words meant for reassurance seemed to lack all but the cold truth and gave her no more comfort than a cold steel knife would; it was not as if she needed reminding about their murder, but what worried her most of all was that the muggle police would never be satisfied with the excuses that the undercover ministry workers came up with. It seemed her logical brain refused to accept everything they told her, because she knew for a fact that they were wrong, sometimes she cursed so much knowledge as a burden. As it were, she'd heard nothing from the wizarding community at all, not even from Harry or Ron. But maybe that was just because she'd told Reginald Hocks the night that it happened that she didn't want to hear from the wizarding world at all, unless it concerned Hogwarts. She'd seen all she'd needed to see that night; she didn't want to know anymore. She knew Harry and Ron would understand. At least she hoped they would.

Their had been limited press involvement, much to her relief, attacks on muggleborn witches and wizards parents were becoming scarily more common and a growing panic was spreading out across the country, so two new murders wouldn't make the headlines anymore. But as always she tried not to think about it as much, only focusing on the task set before her now.

Uncle Jeremy and Aunt Sarah were sat in the lounge, wanting to continue the stormy tirade they had freshly joined. Hermione wondered if there was a queue outside her house and she glanced nervously through to the front door, silently praying that no one would come visiting tomorrow. More than anything she wanted to tell all of them that she wasn't feeling particularly right today, that maybe they should come back in a few days when she was feeling better, but that excuse had failed her several times already. Carrying the tea and cakes like an expert into the lounge where she could hear whispering, she remembered to grab yet another box of Waitrose's tissues in case Sarah starting crying again, she'd been rather fond of her sister-in-law and was finding it hard to cope with the tragedy. Hermione reminded herself not to sit next to Sarah, she had taken to patting her knee furiously when she cried, and she was sure a bruise was forming.

When Hermione had walked up to it, the remains of their car, the place where she'd heard it happen, still unable to forget the voices that plagued her when night came…she'd not imagined that this was how she would be coping with her grief. It seemed that, as the deceased's daughter, her job was to deal with everyone else's grief first and ignore her own. Of course none of them were not so heartless as to not ask how she was, but they took her protests that she was o.k. with a shared glance that said they doubted that, and started off again as they tried, in her eyes, to prove how close or fond they were of her parents, from her dad's corny jokes to her mother's wonderful cooking. They seemed to forget that maybe, just maybe, _she_ wanted to say something about herself and all the stories she had to tell about her parents, but no one seemed to listen. Even all of her grandparents seemed to be oblivious; they watched her like hawks but listened with deaf ears.

Roberts had taken enough interest and had become so involved in it all that she frequently popped over when her shift ended to fill Hermione in on the details about the muggle side of the investigation, (of course she knew nothing about the magic side of the investigation, but neither did Hermione), but her thirst for knowledge had been quenched and she had no desire to know, wasn't it enough that her parents had been ripped away from her, did she really want to know how each one appears to have been killed, or about the dodgy letter that was causing them all concern? Granted, at first she had been desperate to know, but now the shock had been subsiding like a washed out tide ever so slowly, and she simply refused to process what the police officer was telling her, letting the adults instead mull it over and deal with as they should. She wanted to remain the oblivious child whose only concern was coming to terms with the death of her parents.

Her father's parents, Nana Grace and Grandpa Sid, had taken up residency in the guest bedroom seeing as she was still not eighteen and could only then be given residency of the house that had been left solely to her, in a will that had only been drafted weeks before. Her parents hadn't been ones to think too far into the future.

Her grandparents had been the ones to arrange the funeral and invite all the guests, a funeral Hermione couldn't remember much about it, only swathes of black and the far off sound of sobbing. She'd not spoken that day, her gaze only fixed on the two wooden boxes. Her grandparents had dealt with the paperwork and the police, leaving Hermione to sort the relatives out. She wasn't sure which job she'd rather have.

As soon as Jeremy and Sarah had left many hours later, she sank wearily down onto the sofa and rubbed her tired eyes. She was fed up of recounting that nights events to each new visitor she encountered and welcomed into her home, she was fed up of the pictures on the mantelpiece above the fireplace that showed her what she was missing out on, she was fed up of not being allowed a moment to forget about it. Had it only been two weeks?

Glancing up at the clock she realised for the first time that she was alone as she'd wished, her grandparents were still at the solicitors and wouldn't be back, she guessed, for a long while yet. Not quite sure where the thought had come from, or if she should even follow it, she walked to the curtains at the front window. Peeking out behind one she looked at the two police officers sat in the car eating doughnuts and drinking coffee, laughing at something. _At least they can laugh,_ she thought bitterly as she angrily pulled the curtains shut even though the sun was still burning low in the sky.

The house was washed in a silence, but she felt no need to turn the television or the radio on. Her slippers flopped against her feet as she climbed the stairs, instead of heading down the hall to her bedroom she turned left and shut the door behind her. Releasing a breath she'd been unaware she was holding; she sank back wearily against it as her nose was invaded with the smell of her mothers perfume and the sight of her father's briefcase resting on a stool. She'd wanted to come in here for so long, but she'd held back, wanting to be alone when she invaded their space. Feeling for the doorknob with her hand she grasped it and turned the lock, only then satisfied that she wouldn't be interrupted.

Like the rest of their house it was grand in a moderate sense, the large king bed dominating the room with its oversized pillows and crisp duvets in a modern floral pattern that she loved. The built in wardrobes were clean and practical, she ran a hand along the rail across suits and skirts and blouses, eying enviably her mothers dressing table and remembering how, when she was younger, she had snuck in unnoticed and smothered her face in all the pretty colours from the make up box, much to the amusement of her mother who'd sat her down after cleaning the mess off of her face and shown her how to use makeup properly.

Her feet sank into the carpet as she padded across to the en suite bathroom. The door creaked as she pushed it open, her gaze resting a moment on one of her father's t-shirts which had been casually thrown on the floor besides her mother's slippers. Twisting the shower knob all the way round to hot, she slipped off her sweater and jeans and underwear and cautiously stepped into the steaming shower.

At first her skin protested as the scolding water fell upon her, but she let it wash over like a radiating heat that prickled and pinched her skin. The pain subsided as her body adapted to the temperature and Hermione sighed as she felt all the knots in her muscles undo and as all the dirt and grime was scrubbed away, wishing it was as easy for the emptiness and anger that clung to her to be washed down with the water down the drain. She grinned as she washed her hair for the first time in two weeks, immediately feeling refreshed and clean. The minutes blurred as she stood under the pounding water, only lowering the heat when she felt that she might suffocate in the mist.

When she felt significantly cleaner she turned the shower off, and dressed in her father's t-shirt, no longer lying abandoned on the floor. It was far too big for her small frame, but the scent of his aftershave still hung to the cotton and gave her a little comfort. She put on her mother's slippers and walked back into the bedroom. She'd spent so many hours lazing on their bed as she watched her mum tame her unruly bushy hair into soft waves, wishing she could be bothered to do it herself. Of course in recent years her mother's hair had been cut shorter and was no longer so bushy, but Hermione could remember exactly how her mother had done it. She wanted to surround herself with as much as them as possible so that she would never forget memories like those. Time was an enemy of itself.

After several frustrating attempts to get it just as her mother's had been, she finally succeeded in what she thought was a lame (but still plausible) attempt at making her hair resemble the style her mother had worn. Glancing in the mirror she noticed how much she resembled her in that moment, before she turned away and felt guilty, lacking the will to wipe tears from her face.

The frustration and anger had finally found a crack, and was being forced out as if a bomb had just exploded inside of her. Waves of sobs overcame her and she bolted from the chair like a startled deer. She was so tired, the muscles in her face ached and her eyelids were so heavy…she needed to escape and she needed to now. She darted across the room, unlocking the door and throwing it wide open. Her footsteps creaked on the stairs as she ran down them, across the hall, through the kitchen and into the pantry. An icy draught shook her legs and she stumbled, only just managing to catch herself before she fell over.

Hermione eyed the cabinet suspiciously, wondering if she was willing to go that far. She glanced at the ticking clock on the wall as she caught her breath. Without another thought she was there, the sound of clinking glass bottles breaking the silence as she frantically searched for the one that she wanted. Squinting in the dim light she read the labels, going deeper and deeper until her hand grasped the one she wanted. The cabinet doors slammed shut but she was already in the kitchen, running like a frightened child that had been caught looking at something she shouldn't have been. She didn't even stop as she hurried up the stairs, two at a time, and back into her parent's room. There was excitement now, and self praise that she had been clever enough to even think of it. It was so un-Hermione-like, she thought with a sad smile. Her fingers struggled to lock the door as her heart pounded in her chest and her blood soared.

She fell in a heap on the floor, completely washed out. Of course, she'd been allowed to drink before, her parents always let her have a glass of wine with dinner if she wanted it – they had always believed that a good relationship with alcohol would benefit her in the future and stop her abusing it.

Did she want to go this far? Did she know what she was doing? She'd never done anything before against her parents' wishes, she could honestly say she hadn't – did she really want to start now?

A glance at the bed and the clothes and the briefcase brought tears to her eyes. Hermione wanted to forget for just one moment, just one. She wanted to believe she'd fall asleep in their bed and they come back surprised to find her there, wondering why she preferred their bed over her own. They'd chide her for being so daft sometimes, and take her downstairs where they'd order takeaway and watch films on T.V. If she wished hard enough…

The plastic lid scraped against the glass as she twisted it. She'd never tasted this drink before, unsure what to expect. Raising the bottle to her lips she could smell how strong it was and recoiled for a moment. _Are you going to be that fickle, Hermione, _she asked herself.

Yes was the answer to all of her questions, but she didn't let it stop her. She closed her eyes and took one long gulp, gagging as it burned her throat, trying to refrain herself from spitting it back out again. She coughed at the putrid taste and the clear liquid in the bottle sloshed against the sides, threatening to spill onto the carpet. She felt a buzz, and for a moment she felt free, like a bird flying in the sky with no worries, but it disappeared far too quickly for her liking. She'd only meant to take one sip, but one more couldn't hurt, could it?

* * *

A hastily written note sizzled as it burst into flames. Watching it with weary eyes, she wondered why she had been chosen for this, why didn't he get chosen? She was angry; it wasn't very fair why she had been picked. Yes, they were in it together, but as she eyed his dozing figure softly, Pansy wished more than anything that it had been him. She hadn't understood half of what the letter said, or what it meant – only that she was to speak to no one of it, even Draco. Surely he would have been a better choice, Pansy was never one to kid herself that she was something she was not.

Her arm had stopped hurting finally days ago, yet the symbol was always on her mind and in her thoughts, like an eavesdropper who was following everything she did, learning all that she knew. She wasn't smart enough to learn how to shield her mind like Draco could; she didn't have people surrounding her that he had to teach her such things. To them, she was just a measly girl. There were rumours of course, rumours that usually held no truth but these she suspected, did. If it were true, and she prayed for Draco's sake that they were not, then when the time came they'd no longer be together, like a brother and sister they'd become.

_Well I don't want that, _she thought bitterly as the last of the parchment sizzled into ash. She muttered a quick spell to dissolve the smoke and gathered the ash, pouring into a vial she had kept in her jacket under her robe. Tomorrow they were finally allowed to leave this place, but that meant going their separate ways until school. Home was nothing to her but an empty shell, and not for the first time she loathed those who had a caring family. No doubt her mother would force her to be subjected to more spells to alter her appearance, and her father would ignore her presence entirely. For once, just once, she wanted to show them that she was more than just a silly girl; to prove to Draco she was not some laden waste, and to prove to them all that she could be a great witch.

Well maybe, she thought with her first smile for several days, I can prove them all wrong. She felt the vial in her pocket, and thought of the opportunity she had been offered. In that moment, she was grateful she had been chosen. She was going to prove just how much she was worth, and then they'd regret ever doubting her.

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End file.
